


exit wounds

by lovesongs



Category: GOT7
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 05:06:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14687100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesongs/pseuds/lovesongs
Summary: you loved the songs, but not the singer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey, it's me, @lovesongskillme. i forgot my password to that account so i'm reposting it. i'd appreciate any comments. enjoy ♡

Before Jinyoung could tread on red-hot pavement in Los Angeles, he had to spend hours in Narita Airport waiting for his embarkation on a plane to the States and forget his passport in the cafés and restrooms at least three times in a row. His head was splitting up due to jetlag and sweltering heat in the city, and all he wanted at that moment, while standing in the terminal along with other passengers, was to sleep through until the next day. The decision to fly over to Los Angeles wasn't spontaneous: he'd carefully weighed its pros and cons prior to handing in an application for visa and buying a ticket; he'd thought over every single detail of a forthcoming conversation as if his life depended on it. He even declined Mark's parents' offer to stay at their house while he'd be in America. Two days before and after Mark's funeral weren't a big deal, and if it weren't for the circumstances that had brought them together, he probably wouldn't turn it down. Yet he didn't have a heart to accept their proposal. For all he knew Mark had never got along with his family, and whereas Jinyoung hadn't possessed enough courage to actually ask about the reasons, he hadn't questioned them either. Before the day he had to phone the older's mother. Although a surprising lack of tears or grief in her voice had staggered him at first, Jinyoung opted to ignore that queasy sensation in his throat which her cheeful tone had kindled as she didn't seem as sulry or abrasive as he had imagined her to be until then. In fact, she was rather amiable and sweet. So not like Mark.

-

When they met six years ago, Jinyoung was still a student at Yonsei University and studying economics and Mark, being slightly older, was working as an editor for some stagnant asvertising agency. The very first thing Jinyoung'd learned about Mark was that he had a deep green Plymouth Roadrunner his grandfather had won while playing cards with Vietnamese seamen back in Taipei. That fact alone didn't seem that convincing yet it somehow lured Jinyoung in as he tried to imagine someone as handsome as Mark laughing loudly and throwing cards on the table while making futile attempts to explain something in broken English to a tan, muscular sailor.

-

(Just after they found Mark's Plymouth three days after the accident, its charred debris was scattered here and there under the viaduct where the car had collided with a truck. Mark was lying face down a few meters away, in the middle of nowhere, his skin a color of Valium pills crashed with charcoal.)

They had sex in that car right after their third meeting at their friend's birthday, tearing down each other's clothes, trying to be as careful as possible for there wasn't enough space in the backseat. Mark's sweaty palms on his skin, rough leather chafing at Jinyoung's bare back. A sense of sheer lust and want came upon Jinyoung in a strong wave, everything around them, even the night sky, peeking in through the window, seemed almost illusory as if he fell into a dream. So when they woke up the next morning, muscles sore and achy, still bundled up in the car, Jinyoung was reluctant to open his eyes. They drove home in dead silence, Mark fumbling his one-handed attempt to fetch out his lighter. He hadn't said anything ever since they'd left the parking lot in haste, watching cars and trucks creep ahead of them. And only when Jinyoung was about to step into a humid dark porch of his apartment building, he asked, "Would you like to come over on Saturday?"

"Would that be okay?"

"Yeah", Mark's lips curved into a mocking grin, a lit cigarette squeezed between his point and middle fingers, "I'll text you later."

With that he rolled up his window and set off, and soon his car dropped out of sight.

-

They started seeing each other every weekend, spending slothful Saturdays making love under the bedsheets, hands feeling all over their sweat covered bodies, their eager lips clashing with one another in a battle. Sometimes when neither of them were inclined to sex they'd just watch movies or Mark'd show him some of the things he was working on at that moment. Or they'd go for a night ride around the city, the older singing along with Vanguart.

"When I was a child", Mark said while sipping at his whiskey. They were at the bar in Incheon, "we moved to Brazil, then to Paraguay and came back to the States just after I'd entered middle school. Yet I can't remember anything in Portuguese or Spanish, but some phrases I had to learn to survive. Oi, como vai? Bem, obrigado."

Aside from those wee details he sometimes would throw into the flow of their infrequent conversations, Mark had never really brought a family subject up. It wasn't a taboo. He just didn't like talking about it.

-

So when Jinyoung found out that the older didn't get on with his parents, they were already together, living in Mark's apartment.

"I have to leave", Mark announced while he was packing his suitcase with clean shirts.

Upon hearing "leave" Jinyoung went cold. "Why?"

"I'm going to visit my family back in America."

"What? Has anything happened?"

"Well, it's my father's birthday on Wednesday. My sister said that he'd love to see me. I've missed three or four so far."

"Is that all?", Jinyoung asked.

"That's already too much for me, okay?", Mark snapped, zipping up the bag, "If I had a choice, I'd never go back. Even if I was on death row."

"Is it honestly that bad?"

Mark stood up and pulled the suitcase off their bed, his hands slightly trembling. His face was pale and covered with a pellicle of sweat. Then he looked at Jinyoung, his gaze estranged.

"Here", he said, holding out a note with somebody's address and phone number jotted down on it in his sharp handwriting, "for emergencies. I'll be back in a week hopefully." Mark heaved his suitcase, and just as he was about to step out on the landing, he turned around and waved at Jinyoung. "Don't miss me."

-

What really astounded Jinyoung in Mark was the impression of him he'd always given other people. Jinyoung himself had fallen under his spell straight away - back at the club, after their first ever meeting, when he noticed the older dancing to Corey Hart in his bright red shirt, strands of hair sticking to his sweaty temples and forehead. Howbeit the spell'd eroded soon enough for Jinyoung to see through Mark's guise and figure him out. Not completely and not in a flash, but eventually he'd learned to distinguish the real Mark from the mask he'd created to fool people around him. Though everybody, even the guy's close friend, Jackson, considered him composed and mature for some vague reason, in fact he was quite impulsive and got worked up way too easily. He could break the air-conditioner in their apartment because Jinyoung'd said something inapt or throw a laptop at Jackson's colleague, Bambam, in an obstructive fit of anger. Every now and then he'd go overboard and say stuff that'd haunt Jinyoung for days, such as "I feel like this dating thing has been awry since the very beginning" and "it's all your fucking fault" in response to the younger making a remark about plates piling up in the sink. Moreover, Mark was rather callous when it came to others' feelings. Just after he'd died and Jinyoung'd delved into the events of the past week to find out what had led to such consequences, he realized that the only time Mark had ever said a genuine "I love you" was a day before the accident. All the times before that September morning it had been just a heap of words, devoid of any emotions, that didn't go together well.

-

(Mark had a phial full of dark purple, white and light blue pills which he kept inside of his bedside table. Usually he took them for his panic attacks and insomnia, however every once in a while when he experienced sudden outbursts of rage, he'd gulp down three or four of them at one ago in order to cool off. It often brought to their side effects showing up to which Mark didn't give a second thought at all. He also dismissed his doctor's advice to avoid driving for a while which made Jinyoung wonder about how Mark had lived up to his late twenties and hadn't broken a bone or got into a car crash at least once with so much medicine and alcohol in his blood.)

-

Jinyoung didn't notice the moment when everything started to fall apart as he was too focused on getting grades good enough to enroll in an internship. Mark was busy as well; he came home after midnight, skipped meals, drank too much coffee and slept four hours a day without even setting an alarm. As a result, it made him more irascible and morose. He also began to sleep around more frequently. It's not like Jinyoung didn't know that Mark wasn't monogamous. Actually, Mark'd warned him about his inability to be in a committed relationship right after their first date at his apartment.

He said, "If you're not ready to accept it, then I don't think it'll work out."

Still, Jinyoung, a complete fool, had assumed that he'd be able to change it sooner or later or, at least, that he'd be able to put up with Mark's flings in order to keep the older beside him (if his patience was the price). Mark'd slip away at night and during the day to "help out" his colleagues or friends and disappear for hours, not really confiding in Jinyoung if it applied to his affairs though they never lasted long enough to consider them serious or alarming. Surprisingly, Mark always came back, and as long as he did Jinyoung didn't want to probe into the details in an effort to protect his sanity and peace though it didn't always pan out. Sometimes Mark'd tell Jinyoung stories about his "adventures" in a deliberately carefree manner, describing a person he was seeing at that moment and purposely pointing out the features that Jinyoung was lacking. The older knew well enough which buttons to push, hardly ever missing the mark, as he was conscious that it'd cause Jinyoung to become even more miserable and desperate than he already was.

-

After Mark passed, Jinyoung continued keeping his number in his cellphone. (He couldn't bring himself to erase it.) There was a time he accidentally pressed the number and heard a familiar mechanic voice asking him to leave a message. And Jinyoung did, in an undertone, with a lit cigarette squeezed between his teeth.

"Why don't we start over from the beginning?" That was a line Mark used after their fight in São Paolo where they'd set off for just as summer break'd got under way.

When they went to the restaurant which was not that far from the hotel they'd stayed in, Mark met Ismael, a thirty years old sommelier. Afterwards Mark hardly ever spent time with Jinyoung, driving around the city in Ismael's Pontiac and coming back early in the mornings, reeking of alcohol and cigarillos.

"Asshole", Jinyoung hissed as he threw a bedside lamp at the older, "You can't even keep it in your pants while we're on holiday. What the hell is wrong with you? Is it that funny?"

Mark bent down and picked the lamp up, holding it in his right hand like a trophy. There was a peculiar smirk on his lips as if he'd rejoiced at the splash of wrath. "Do you regret it?", he asked.

"Yes, I fucking do", the younger spat out, white with rage, "Before I met you, I'd never had any regrets, but now they're eating me away." Then he snatched his jacket and stormed out of their room, in the dead of night, not knowing a single word in Portuguese.

Mark found him an hour later, on the corner of the street, flicking his lighter and watching cars pass through, eyes puffy, cigarette stubs scattered all over the place. The older squated beside his hunched figure. He gently nosed Jinyoung's shoulder and questioned in a hoarse voice as if it was another routine how-are-you or what-are-you-doing.

"Why don't we start over from the beginning?"


	2. Chapter 2

The police said that Mark'd probably died of respiratory arrest, induced by drug overdose, as a complete blood count revealed that he'd taken too high a dose of diazepam and paroxetine shortly before his death.

When his car veered across the motorway and plowed headlong into the truck, according to the autopsy report, he was already in a coma.

-

"So what are you going to do now?"

Jinyoung looked up to see Jackson staring right back questioningly, a plastic bag with beer cans and a pack of chips in his hand. They were at the hospital where Mark's corpse had been brought to after it was found.

"What?"

"What are your plans?"

"I don't know yet", Jinyoung said, fiddling with a cigarette, the habit he picked up from Mark, "I'll probably move out of the apartment. I can't afford the rent this high on my own anyway."

"What about his belongings?"

Jackson sat down beside him on a bench and  
rustled the bag, hooking out two cans then throwing one on Jinyoung's lap.

The younger replied, "I'll just give it away."

"Have you tried to contact his family?"

"I'm sure they know that he's gone. There's absolutely no way the police hasn't told them yet, I mean, why wouldn't they?"

"They may not have their number."

"It's not the nineteenth century. They could search on the Internet, dig in his documents."

"Yeah, but it's the police we're talking about, man. Believe me, they wouldn't want to waste so much effort on something as time-consuming as that", Jackson reasoned.

"Whatever."

"You should let them know."

"Why?", Jinyoung asked, feeling irritation building up inside, "And what will I tell them?  "Hello, I'm your son's boyfriend. By the way, he's dead". I can't just break the news to them. Do I even have the right to do that?"

"Technically, you do. You hadn't spent four years, putting up with Mark's shit, in vain."

"Well. Does it make me special? There were others too. I wasn't the only one."

"Are they here now though?"

Jinyoung cracked another can open and quickly gulped his beer down, in one go.

"Mark loved you", Jackson spoke up after a long pause, "It was as clear as the day."

"Ridiculous."

"Why? He'd never told you?"

"He had, but it doesn't necessarily mean that he really did love me."

"How about you then?"

Jinyoung didn't reply.

"In any case", the older said as he rose to his feet and flung trash in the package, "you should tell his family, and don't say no."

"It'd be better if you did it yourself."

"They'll ask me why he'd done that, and I won't have much to say in return. You will."

"I'm not sure if I know the answer myself."

"Please, Jinyoung. If you need their phone number, I'll give it to you. Just do it. For Mark."

"I have it. The number", the younger sighed, "Fine, I'll call them."

Jackson chuckled and ruffled his hair.

"Well, aren't you a sweetheart?"

"Shut up."

-

Jackson helped him to find another apartment, much closer to his work than the previous one, with a large furnished room and a moderate rent price that he was able to handle alone. The older suggested he'd ask his colleagues or friends if they were in need of a flatmate so that he could save a bit on housing outlay, still Jinyoung turned his offer down almost immediately, not really taking the trouble to try.

"It's too bothersome", he said.

As for the things that Mark'd left behind (his clothes, guitar, record player, camera, books), Jinyoung put it all up for sale, and soon they were gone as though they'd never been there.

-

Jinyoung opted to retain the older's black leather jacket he'd gotten from his father as a birthday gift. As down at heel as it appeared with its edges slightly worn and nickel zipper, it still had remains of Mark's musky scent (pepper, lemons, cedar, grapefruits) ingrained into the lining, all sorts of memories which it'd collected within the cracks rising to the surface whenever the younger'd put it on: Mark bitting off flinders of a glass because the party was too tedious, punching a guy who'd tried to hit on him at the bar or attempting to strangle Jinyoung in a gust of rage after he'd come home early in the morning, on a trip and roaring drunk.

The bright livid spots he'd left on the younger's neck disappeared only a week later.

-

When Jinyoung came to their old apartment to fetch Mark's things so that he could sell or give it away, he found the ashtray the guy bought in Cairo standing on the bedside table, filled with crumpled cigarette stubs Mark didn't bother to throw away before he left; his clothes he'd usually worn at home were sprawled on their bed as he left them; his laptop'd been put on sleep mode as if its owner'd just walked out for a moment to make coffee and was about to return.

Jinyoung turned it on, dithering for a split second, typed in the password he'd peeped a long time ago and quickly looked through browser history, stumbling across a couple of websites that sold plane tickets.

Los Angeles.

07.03.

The day Mark'd died.

-

Seoul was much more different from Busan or Jinhae or so Jinyoung'd thought until he merged into the city's fast-paced stream. It was a city of haste, a place where things went faster than in others, at first he couldn't even take a deep breath and look around. If someone'd asked what things he associated with Seoul, he'd have named vertigo, a lack of air and coffee. He had never been into coffee before: his mother was quite hopeless when it came down to making coffee at home, she'd always let it boil over or overdo it to the point where nobody could even take a sip of the drink, it was that bitter. Yet Jinyoung'd grown to like coffee once he moved out and eventually ceased the contact with his parents. There wasn't a clear reason that he could point out. He wasn't even sure if there had ever been one, to begin with. As years passed by and he gradually settled down in Seoul, studying and hanging out with his friends from time to time, in other words, leading a rather mundane life of an ordinary student, he stopped calling them and instead turned to texting them once a month so as to assure them that he was fine and they didn't have to worry at all. He was alright in spite of the constant rows he had with his flatmate, a messed up sleeping schedule, malnutrition and a general feeling of loneliness as if he suddenly lost his name and became another faceless figure in the hordes of day-trippers, harried office workers, delivery boys, students. Jinyoung felt it, a sensation that he couldn't quite place or put a label on, that he was unable to verbalize, whenever he went out to buy a pack of chips and beer at midnight or when he was on the bus or when a song that he used to love started playing out of blue. The sounds of the city that accompanied his every step, those of commotion and voices all tangled together, the odor of fried pork, kimchi or sweat, the faces he knew so well, everything altered to a mush, a shroud thrown over his eyes.

Mark was something totally different, he stood out of the crowd, and Jinyoung fell under his spell straight off. He was tired of the routine.

He recalled glimpses of himself arching his back so Mark could place gentle kisses on his stomach, down to his aching groin, Mark's tousled hair tickling his sensitive skin, his nails leaving deep scratches on the older's shoulders, their long conversations and mutual distrust.

They both knew it'd eventually pass. Their passion'd grow cold and dissipate, their love'd turn into a fossil rag that neither of them had ever worn properly. Their separation was bound to happen although Jinyoung had no idea that it'd happen all of a sudden like an explosion.

"We're sorry to inform you that your friend's gone."

-

He and Mark quarrelled that morning.

"You never tell me anything", he hissed, annoyed by the older's deliberate indifference, "You always keep your fucking mouth shut, git."

"What do you care?", Mark looked up to throw a quick glance at the clock, "You'll be late for work."

"Something's wrong, and you wouldn't even speak up about it. I do care."

"It has nothing to do with you so let's get it over with and finally head out, okay? Please."

"Is it related to your job or family? If so, we could figure a solution out together. I could help."

"Listen", his boyfriend sighed, it was a tired one, and put his cold palms on Jinyoung's shoulders, "There's nothing you can do about it. What's done is done, as trite as it sounds."

"Fine", he shook Mark's hands off and stepped aside, gesturing for the older to get out, swallowing the rage in his throat for it could take a form of words that he wouldn't be able to unsay, "Get fucking stuffed. I'll just take the bus. Don't worry."

Mark didn't attempt to placate or set himself right with him as he'd always do after realizing that yet again he'd been too candid, too forthright. He walked out in complete silence, carrying nothing but his wallet and car keys in one hand and his passport in another.

He died an hour later.

-

Jinyoung volunteered to help carry the casket despite the exhaustion creeping up on him, feeling how sweaty his armpits and back were under his pitch black jacket he'd bought in haste. Nobody was shedding tears. Mark's younger brother hadn't even come to escort him to his last resting place, and at first it'd startled Jinyoung, but he hadn't mustered the courage to enquire Mark's mother, Dorine, of it.

Just as they lowered the coffin into a pit of gray stone and filled it up with earth, he released a sigh of relief. The city was coming apart in the heat, fervent sweat was rolling off his forehead and cheeks, everyone was standind in the back, under the trees, and quietly watching as Mark's cousins and brother-in-law strewed soil on the casket in which his dead body, butchered by the autopsy and a long flight, was lying.

He felt strange, and the reasons behind it didn't solely lie in his fatigue or the fact that he was at his boyfriend's funeral amid people he hardly knew, no. The moment he stepped into the Tuans' house and greeted every relative he'd encountered so far, he felt rather odd as if something essential was missing. None was lamenting his death. They all appeared exuberant, discussing something abstact and laughing clamorously as if it were another habitual family gathering. They weren't even trying to put on a false front and feign sorrow as any other family would do had their son and brother passed or so Jinyoung'd assumed.

After an opulent dinner Dorine'd set up, he went straight up to Mark's room, apprehensive about what he was about to see there. He remembered how hollow and dejected he felt, entering that apartment for the first time in a month, followed by an old man, their landlord, who had been grumbling incoherently, throwing rather crude insults at people Jinyoung'd never heard about before, at his only daughter who'd married a poor twat. Mark's room, bare and dark since blinds were pulled down, induced the same sensation, if not more profound, as though it was a clear reflection of the gaping hole in his chest that was growing larger bit by bit, day by day.

There was a fine dust hanging in the air and a pungent odor of ammonia which tickled his nose and impeded his breathing. Jinyoung could hear the echoes of the ceaseless chatter he'd successfully fleed from earlier, immense guilt gnawing at him as though his body'd modified and seized the lineaments peculiar to Mark, thus adopting all his shortcomings. Mark was dead yet Jinyoung couldn't call a halt to that eerie foreboding that the older was just biding his time, patiently waiting for an opportunity to return to life. Mark was still there, though barren of a physical form, faceless and voiceless, keeping them all in sight as if they were children in need of supervision. His presence could be sensed in each corner, in each deprecative glare his family'd cast at Jinyoung, in each gesture, and he didn't have a clue about a means to get out of Mark's invisible clutches.

-

Arcadia brought to mind all the quiet towns that were usually depicted in American movies with their immaculate houses, spick and span backyards, seniors in spruce clothes and language which suited the picture-perfect scenery faultlessly. Arcadia struck Jinyoung as a solemn, ridig place where life passed smoothly on, unmarked by afflictions. It was much less vibrant and obstreperous than Seoul so the contrast made him feel ill at ease as if he fell into an alternate universe.

Mark'd always said that he loved Seoul better, that Seoul as a city where nothing ever stopped, even at night, even for a fleeting second, was, in his humble opinion, the best place in the world. He'd never been to other cities, apparently, he'd never even travelled around the country where he was born. Yet for some reason Seoul was his temple, his point of no return, it was a spot on the map where he could be himself since he, a person, was as heartfelt and flamboyant as the city. He was out of control, defiant yet cold and aloof when he wasn't in the mood. If Jinyoung were to describe him, he'd say, "He was a precise reflection of Seoul, a chameleon." It took a certain amount of time to fully comprehend him yet sometimes when he didn't even bother to let you look into his shell, it was out of question.

When they met for the first time in that sordid club, Mark, who could barely stand after dancing and pouring alcohol into his throat as if it was mere water, who was wearing a vermilion shirt, said, "All these men and women are boring. Would you like to dance with me?"

And if Jinyoung'd said no, he'd probably have moved on.

And wouldn't have died.

And wouldn't have appeared in his nightmares, his heart still beating, albeit faintly, under a thin layer of skin, his skin a color of a tusk and arms as thin as a pair of twigs.

And wouldn't have ever let him have a taste of love, so sore and putrid that it burnt his tongue.

Arcadia didn't quite suit Mark. He couldn't handle tranquillity or constancy, and these were what the town was about. Stagnancy.

-

Jinyoung went to a bar. Sneaked out at night while others were crowding in the kitchen to deliver another toast full of odious lies and strolled down the street. The bar was bare of visitors and filled with cigarette smoke, an old man, a bartender, was switching channels out of pure boredom. He was Chinese or Taiwanese, quite tall for his age, slim, dressed in shabby clothes and had a strong accent. Jinyoung ordered a jug glass of beer and a plate of nuts.

"Son", the man spoke to him, "you're not from around here, are you?"

"Yeah", Jinyoung replied dryly, then altered his tone to a more polite one, "I'm here for my boyfriend's funeral. Once it's over, I'll go home."

"Oh, my condolences", he paused for a moment as if attempting to pick out the right words. Then he cast a quick glance at a wall clock, "Whose funeral was it, though? I know pretty much everyone in this area. It's rather odd that I hadn't heard about someone dying here before."

"Mark Tuan's."

"Oh, Raymond's boy. They say don't speak ill of the dead, but he was quite heedless. Imprudent"

"Why?", Jinyoung enquires at the man, doubt obvious in the mou of his mouth.

"He as a kid was a part of a gang that was rather popular among young lads in Arcadia. They'd got involved in an accident, and half of them'd ended up in jail. Mark'd managed to shun imprisonment and later vanished."

"What was that accident about?", he attemped at feigning nonchalance, but his tone was curious.

"They beat up a bugger to death."

"Bugger?"

"Some here call gay men buggers."

Jinyoung's stomach dropped. Then he stood up rather swiftly (he couldn't care less about being polite or courteous anymore) and after slapping money on a bar counter flounced out of the bar, his heart pounding at breakneck speed. He could feel it throbbing in his throat and head.

Mark and his friends killed a gay guy.

Mark and his friends killed a gay guy.

Mark.

Jinyoung was hurtling back to the house, not looking around at all and as a result bumping into a troupe of teenagers a few times. He was tired, he couldn't even iron out his thoughts and emotions which were in disarray. They bore a resemblance to a heap of splinters scattered all over the floor. If you stepped on them, you could easily get bleeding scratches on your feet.

Finally, he caught on to the reason behind Mark's desperate reluctance to visit his home country, but the truth felt as if someone plunged a knife into his lungs, turned it around thrice and then tore apart his ribcage.

He could hear the crunch of his bones.

-

He came back to the house, went to the room which was allotted to him and pulled out his suitcase from under the bed, flinging all his garments in it, not even bothering to keep the room well groomed. He couldn't stay there any longer, it wasn't worth considering. The house's walls were lying heavy on his shoulders and neck, cutting off access to the air.

Mark was there, a pellucid figure standing in the corner of the room and watching his every step.

And then a thought struck Jinyoung. Mark might've not even touched a strand of hair on that guy's head, he might've run away before the deed occured, he might've been the one who told the police all about that murder. Was it his fault?

However, Jinyoung couldn't even inquire about it. His family'd never tell him the whole truth. Mark was dead, hence he didn't have the ability to answer, he no longer had the memory.

Then why was Mark dating him if he supposedly hated Jinyoung as he was gay? Was it even love?

Jinyoung loved Mark as a person, in spite of all his wrongdoings and short temper.

Had Mark ever loved him back?

-

Jinyoung arrived at the airport at dawn and purchased a morning ticket to Seoul, delighted that he could breathe easy after everything that'd taken place, although Mark's ghost was still there, albeit less obstinate and aggravated.

He recalled a passage from that movie Mark'd been emotionally attached to.

_"Sometimes I think I have felt everything I'm ever gonna feel. And from here on out, I'm not gonna feel anything new. Just lesser versions of what I've already felt."*_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * a quote from 'her' (2013)


End file.
